Chapter Text
There was a boy that I did not recognize, a boy on the cusp of manhood, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, who my father had begun to favor. The boy, the lyre player who soothed my father’s spirit when evil rested upon him, had hair like fire, and fingers that flickered across the strings with the deftness of a flame. He was beautiful, cheeks ruddy with youth and always adorned in a loose tunic without ornament, yet he always managed to steal my eye and make me nervous to speak to him.
The thought of him makes me flush with embarrassment. My fingers shake in a way that they never have before when I try to string my bow. He seems so unaffected by me, despite our differences. I clearly hold all power over him, so why is it my heart that leaps and trembles under his gaze? I am older, I am a man already, but his fine gaze makes me feel like a swooning maiden. He is the youngest of his father’s eight sons. He may be of a noble bloodline, but his place in the birth order has placed him in his father’s fields, a shepherd for his father’s sheep. Still, the music of his lyre is sweeter than anointing oil, and he has the air of someone who will become great in the future.
The boy is called David, the son of the elder Yishai. I am no humble-born man either. I will be the next king of Israel, I am my father’s firstborn son, his crown prince. I am Yonaton. It pains me to see my father’s mind ill at ease, but due to his suffering, David has joined the court as an arms-bearer and lyre player, and I have not yet had the courage to approach him. I have no reason to; I am not like my sister Michal who can go fearlessly to pursue anyone who catches her eyes. My mother chides me often, pushing me to be more assertive like her, and not wait for someone to court me as she did with my father, King Shaul, in those vineyards all those years ago. I would once be proud to have anything in common with my father, but this personality trait turning out to be quite frustrating. That’s why it should surprise no one that David was the one to first initiate anything between us.
It happened when I had rounded the corner of a palace hallway, flushed and sweating from practicing archery in the heat of the day. My gait did not stall even as I had reached the bend, and I stepped carelessly into him. My hand went out to grab him, to keep him from falling, but he did not even stumble. I swallowed dryly; hand encircled around his wrist, as he looked at men with clever eyes, warm like molten bronze. It singed my own coal-dark eyes, bringing a rush of color to my cheeks. Thank God that a healthy flush already rested there from physical exertion, though I fear the clever David somehow knows my heart and its secrets.
“My Prince.” The sound of his voice is just as beautiful as the music he plays. It stirs something within me, a feeling I have never felt with anyone like I did David. I wanted to endear myself to him, as he so effortlessly did to me. His brows raise in question, and I realize my mistake. I step back, regretfully having to let go of his wrist.
“My apologies, Ben Yishai, I did not see you.” I muster up, though still feel a bit lackluster.
“It is no matter to me; it is an honor to meet you, my Prince.” David replies easily.
“The honor is mine.” I say. David looks momentarily startled, I have somehow managed to break through his fortress of unaffectedness. The difficult part is that I have no clue what I said to make him falter so, and that my meaning is also unclear. What honor is it for a crown prince to meet an arms-bearer? “Ah, that is, it is an honor to meet the one who can sooth my dear father’s mind. Ben Yishai, your skill on the lyre is sweet to even the most discordant of minds.”
David smiles, and I smile too. I want more of his smile, I want him. The thought scares me more than the fierce battle cries of the Philistines or the Amalekites. I fear it more than the rage of my father when his mind is clouded with anger. I fear it because I fear God, I fear that I have found someone that I might love more than Him.
“I beg of my Prince, call me David.” The fire haired youth requests. My heart flutters with a rush of excitement. It’s a bold thing to ask of a prince, but I am more than happy to grant it.
“If you will call me Yonaton, I will surely do good on you to call you David.” I speak. It’s an even bolder ask, to have the courage to call royalty plainly, but sweet David rises to the challenge without more than a delightful smile in response.
“Then it is settled, Yonaton.” David replies, adding “And thank you. If you wish to hear my lyre, all you must do is ask. I would happily give you a performance.”
I hope it is not visible to him on my face, the way his words affect me. I feel for the first time in my life that it is a shame that I was not born a woman, for I feel as if I were made to love this beautiful man.
But the problem is that I do not need to be a woman to love him. If it is forbidden, then let me be a sinner.
Be silent. I chide my mind. Who is asking you to sin? David has only offered to play a song for us. I cannot tell my heart to be still, however, because as I will quickly learn, I do not need to be a woman to love a man as deeply as I do.